


man hands on misery to man

by typicalAcademic



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Bloodplay, Burnplay, Cutting, Knifeplay, Masturbation, Other, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 22:16:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/typicalAcademic/pseuds/typicalAcademic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You hoist yourself into your Recuperacoon, gingerly giving in to the calming effects of the slime. You don’t know why you get so angry at yourself but you do it anyway, so maybe it’s out of spite. While the slime’s powers can contain your species’ terrible memories, it is not so good with your self-hatred.</p>
            </blockquote>





	man hands on misery to man

It’s dark and you are alone. Despite the rather cramped quarters in The Veil, it isn’t hard to find time to yourself.  
  
Lately, though, it’s been difficult to tear yourself away from your Trollian device and the various memos you keep making, in the past and future and present. Just thinking about it makes your face burn. You can’t believe how stupid you are, all the time, no matter when it is. You talk too much, or not enough, or with the wrong fucking information.   
  
You hoist yourself into your Recuperacoon, gingerly giving in to the calming effects of the slime. You don’t know why you get so angry at yourself but you do it anyway, so maybe it’s out of spite. While the slime’s powers can contain your species’ terrible memories, it's not so good with your self-hatred.  
  
You think about your last conversation with yourself. No matter what part of the time stream you interact with yourself in, you always leave with a distinct desire to throttle yourself. Though often you are not sure if you mean yourself in the other time or yourself in the now, whatever that means. Time streams are stupid.   
  
You’re getting angry again, or more angry, whichever it is doesn’t matter. Briefly, Kanaya’s advice about channeling positive energy runs through your mind. You deftly swat her pale counsel away. Fuck positive energy. It sounds like some stupid thing the Rose Human would believe in.   
  
You sink further into the slime and it covers your auricular sponge clots, leaving you with the thudding of your blood. Wild, half-formed thoughts skid across your brainpan. You want to see your stupid candy red blood, want to make it pool around you, maybe gnaw your fingertips away to see how bone meets nailbed. You want to slap yourself, make the blood rise close to the surface, spank the flesh with cruel instruments, spiny bits of wire, sharp knives, you imagine glass imbedded in your thighs, white hot burning on your wrists, you imagine pain enough to make the candy inside you burn away to nothingness. 

You try to ignore how your bulge is swelling and beginning to wriggle against your nook. You want to be angry, you want to give in to the loathing, just for a little bit, here in the slime where it’s safe and you won’t hurt anyone but yourself.   
  
You stop being able to ignore your bulge as it stuffs inside you, pushing around your nook and curling back over itself. It’s not that they have a mind of their own. Rather, you seem to have been too preoccupied with your self-indulgent fantasies to notice.   
  
This makes you more angry. You can’t believe how easily you lose touch with your own fucking exoskeleton. You’re thinking about choking again and you place your hands against your throat, you’re almost willing yourself to grab a hold, restrict, tighten, to make terrible gasping noises through your closed claws or inhale the mucous sedative. Or drive the points of your nails into the soft grey skin.   
  
Your bulge is pumping now, sometimes short bursts, other times long steady thrusts. Your nook ripples around it, taking it in and pushing it out again. The thudding of your blood is taking on a faster tempo and a higher pitch, almost a ringing in your brainpan now. You want to feel candy red leaking down the sides of your face, to have the ringing make you numb.   
  
You remove your hands from your throat and place them first against your chest, reveling in the pricking of your talons, the pinching of sensitive tissue. You move one hand down to your nook and press inside, up, twist counter to your bulge’s incessant pounding. You’re close and caught up in ideations of slicing blades and stinging fire. It feels so good and you hate how much you are enjoying yourself. Your bulge begins to clutch up and you shudder against your fingers and you’re fucking yourself ragged, a string of obscenities spewing from between your clenched fangs.   
  
There’s red everywhere and some of it is blood and some of it is from pailing and all of it is so fucking beautiful that for a moment you aren’t so angry anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> written for SAFEWORDS on lj
> 
> prompt: homestuck, karkat, self punishment fantasies  
> our guardian angels  
> are hiding switchblades  
> in their feathers
> 
> fuck yeah i filled my own prompt


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